


A Little Help from My Friends

by twoscarypandas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Denmark can't handle crushes, Fluff, M/M, Norway and Sweden 'help', Romance, Sleigh Ride, Snow, established relationships - Freeform, rarepair exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoscarypandas/pseuds/twoscarypandas
Summary: Denmark brings his boyfriend, America, on a winter vacation. Sweden and Norway notice that Denmark's acting odd, so they decide to give him a little "help" with his crush - by stranding them alone in the woods.





	A Little Help from My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the APH Rarepair exchange, with the prompts intimacy, cold, and travel. Happy New Year ryuokowolf!

_Slam. Thud._ “Yo! This place is HUUGE. Even nicer inside than on the outside. Warm, too. I thought you guys would be stingier with the thermostat than England, and let me tell you, he—”

Norway carefully marks the place in his book and sets it aside. “Sounds like they made it back from the airport okay. I told you not to worry about the roads.”

Sweden doesn’t look up from his knitting, but there’s a slight hum that tells Norway his concentration has shifted.

“He’s our guest as well as Danmark’s. It would be rude not to greet him,” Norway continues.

Sweden nods, counts off his loops, and sets the half-finished sweater aside in his box of yarn. He closes the lid before standing, and Hanatamago whines from her place at his feet. She likes stealing the spools of yarn far more than she likes wearing the festive sweaters Sweden knits for her. With a fond smile, Norway wraps his arm around Sweden’s waist and heads downstairs.

America is still rambling about the large cottage they’ve rented for the month, his boots by the door and his coat half-off while Denmark follows after him, arm full of their scarves, gloves, and hats as he tries to get the coat on a hanger. Norway raises an eyebrow. They have strict rules about the removal and drying of their winter gear, but it’s rare to see Denmark take care of someone else’s gear, too. He finally wrangles the coat off America’s other arm just as the young nation turns to see Norway and Sweden on the stairs. He grins, and Norway finds himself enfolded in a hug before he can disentangle his arm from Sweden’s.

“Hey, good to see ya’! Thanks so much for having me, this place is great!” America announces, then releases Norway. He turns to hug Sweden, but stops himself as the man tenses up and goes for a vigorous handshake instead. Norway smiles, impressed that America remembered how uncomfortable Sweden gets around people he doesn’t know well.

“Your hands are cold,” Sweden manages to get in when America takes a breath. “I’ll make something hot. Hungry?”

“You know it, man,” America replies.

The prospect of food seems to have summoned Hana as well, and she comes rushing past Norway’s legs to bark at America until he squats down to greet her. “There’s my girl! Do you smell Roswell? He says hi too!”

“Where is Roswell, by the way?” Norway asks. He’s surprised not to see America’s big brown lab.

“Tony’s looking after him. He hates flying, so I figured I’d leave him home for this trip. Right Hana? Aww, you’re not a scaredy-dog like Ros, are you?”

“Unless you’ve got a vacuum cleaner,” Denmark says with a laugh. He’s divested himself of the coats and scarves, and Norway catches him running a hand through his hair in an attempt to revive the height it lost under his hat. He watches America play with Hana for a moment, then actually hesitates before slinging his arm over America’s shoulder. Norway raises an eyebrow at that, and Denmark just shrugs helplessly.

America leans into Denmark and surveys the front hall once more before looking expectantly at the stairs. “Where’s Finland?”

“Working,” the three Nordics reply simultaneously.

“ _Riiiight_ ,” America grins. “And your brother?”

Norway sighs. “He’s not coming. He refused to, and I quote, ‘Hang around a bunch of old geezers making goo-goo eyes at each other.’ I reminded him that you were coming and that you’re younger than he is, but it didn’t work. I actually think he convinced Finland to let him help with a few…deliveries.”

“Lucky asshole! I’ve been trying to get Finland to let me come along for years,” America exclaims. “Uh, wait, not that your brother’s an asshole. It’s just a saying in the states, y’know?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Norway replies with a wave of his hand. “Iceland is definitely an asshole. He called me _old_.”

Sweden hums and heads toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll start lunch.”

“We better help, too. Sweden’s idea of lunch isn’t always edible,” Denmark teases.

America laughs, but slides out from Denmark’s arm. “Actually, I think I need to find the bathroom first. Super long plane ride and all.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, I should’ve though of that. There’s a little one down the hall and another upstairs. Here, I’ll take your bags up and show you,” Denmark replies.

“It’s cool, I’ve got them. I don’t want you peeking at the presents I brought!” America says with a wink. With one hand, he lifts a duffle that looks heavier than the man himself, and with the other he lifts his suitcase. Denmark stares after him, mouth slightly open.

Norway smirks and pushes him toward the stairs. “He still doesn’t know where the bathroom is. And wipe your mouth before you head up - you’re going to get drool on your sweater.”

Laughing to himself, Norway follows Sweden to the kitchen. He immediately falls into a routine at Sweden’s side as they put together hot sandwiches.

“What are you laughing about?” Sweden asks. “Are they still making fun of my food?”

“No,” Norway replies, then pauses in slicing the cheese as he reconsiders. “Well, probably, but that’s not why I’m laughing. Amerika has accomplished the impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“Danmark has a crush.”

Sweden raises an eyebrow. “Ja. They’ve been dating for a year. Even I noticed that.”

Norway shakes his head. “That’s different. Did you see how hard he’s trying to be a good host? He has a _crush_.”

Sweden’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s alright. It took you what, 100 years to realize I liked you? There’s a difference. You’ll see.” Norway leans up and kisses Sweden’s nose. The man immediately turns scarlet and can do little more than stammer in response.

“See? A crush. It’s different,” Norway says triumphantly.

“But…that’s just…you’re cute!” Sweden replies. Still blushing, he turns back to their lunch. And if their hands brush more than is necessary, or their hips bump together and Norway catches Sweden smiling – well, it’s only a crush that’s lasted them several centuries.

XXX

By evening, Sweden is beginning to agree that Denmark’s feelings for America are indeed _different_ than his previous relationships. In his opinion, however, the appropriate definition is something closer to _a miracle_. Denmark pulled out America’s chair at the table, refilled his coffee without being asked, offered to clean the dishes despite the absence of a chore wheel, and listened intently to whatever America said without interruption. Sweden’s beginning to wonder if America drugged him on the drive over, and if he could convince America to give him a supply of it before he goes home.

Sweden continues to watch in awe as Denmark stares at America with a soft, almost innocent smile on his face. He’s losing their poker game badly, and he hasn’t complained about it once. It’s a little unnerving – the lack of complaint, not the loss. Denmark has no control over his expressions, and he’s won about three poker games in the last century.

“Sverige! Are you in or not?”

Sweden shakes himself from his musings and turns back to Norway, the chips in the middle of the table, and the expressions of his opponents. While Denmark’s loopy smile is facing America, America’s smirk is on his cards. “Fold.”

“Alright then. Show your hands.” Norway lays out his cards, Denmark vaguely drops his on the table, and America throws his down with a whoop.

“Aw yeah! That’s the best hand I’ve had since we stopped at Monaco’s place last summer! She still won’t speak to me. You must be my good look charm, babe!” America catches Denmark by the shoulders and kisses him full on the lips. Norway whistles, and Sweden can see the color rise up Denmark’s neck.

“You don’t normally turn that red in the winter, Danmark,” says Sweden. Norway snickers, and Denmark pulls away.

“Oh come on, you get excited if Norge so much as holds your hand. I don’t know how you two ever manage to bang,” Denmark complains.

“Quite well, thank you,” Norway replies calmly. Sweden can’t quite make the noise in his throat turn into words.

“Guess I should be glad our room’s down the hall!” America laughs.

“ _Norge,_ ” Sweden whispers desperately, “that’s private.”  No matter how many years they’ve been together, there’s something about other people discussing certain aspects of their relationship that makes his skin crawl. Those moments belong to them and them alone, in the silence and softness between words and touch.

Norway squeezes his hand under the table. “Sorry.”

America shifts uncomfortably, opens his mouth, then closes it. He fidgets with his cards another minute before speaking, then blurts out: “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here? I know you do this every year as a Nordic _thing_ , and it’s totally cool if you want me to find a hotel nearby or something so you can have your space.”

“No!” To Sweden’s surprise, the shout came from his own mouth. The others look equally shocked, so he gives America a smile. “No, you’re welcome here. You make Danmark very happy, and that’s enough for us.”

“That so?” America grins, nudging his boyfriend. “You’ve been talking about me, eh?”

“Of course!” Denmark says, slinging his arm around America and practically pulling him out of his chair. “I like you, and you’re all kinds of sexy! You wouldn’t leave me alone here with these two, would you? Their idea of fun is knitting sweaters for the dog.”

Sweden shrugs. “Hana gets cold.”

“So what’s _your_ idea of fun then?” asks Norway. “Are you whisking Amerika off on exciting snow adventures?”

“Um, I don’t know. What do you want to do?” Denmark says.

“You tell me! There’s plenty of snow up north at my place, and I visit Alaska a few times a year, so I’m totally – _YAWN -_ totally ready for whatever.” America yawns again and stretches. “Actually, I think I’m ready for bed! It’s like 3 AM for me now and the jet lag is catching up.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re winning,” Sweden says.

“Hah, maybe tomorrow we’ll see just how many Swedish banks I can empty!” America replies. He pushes back his chair, and Denmark immediately rises as well, rushing to guide the way upstairs.

“Here, I’ll show you where everything is again. We’ve got a bunch of extra blankets! This place has modern heat, but it still gets really cold at night. Did you bring enough socks? You can borrow mine…”

Denmark’s voice fades as he and America make it to the top of the stairs. Sweden and Norway stare after them until they hear a door shut, then look at each other and burst into laughter.

“I’ve never seen him this nervous!” Sweden exclaims.

 “I _told_ you,” Norway wheezes. “I told you it was different! Danmark has a crush! He’s trying to impress him!”

“He’s trying to impress us too,” Sweden chuckles. “It’s like he brought Amerika home to meet his parents.”

“I guess that makes us the parents?” Norway says.

The image that conjures up only makes Sweden laugh harder. “Just wait until Finland gets here at the end of the month. He’ll sit in front of their room in the morning, polishing his rifle.”

“I could dig up my old sword, but I’m not sure it would have the same effect on a modern superpower,” says Norway. “It might scare Danmark, though. I can’t believe it! He’s trying so hard it makes him…”

“Weird,” Sweden suggests, and they both sober up as they realize the implications. Denmark and America are a good match; they’re both full of confidence and energy, able and happy to keep up with one another. But this nervous version of Denmark might push America away instead of bringing him closer. Everyone knows America’s never been very good at reading between the lines, and he might take Denmark’s anxiety as reluctance.

“We need to help him,” Norway says.

Sweden nods. “Get them alone for a while.”

“Somewhere Danmark knows well. Let him play the hero’s hero.”

They get quiet again, thinking, until Sweden spots the painting over the mantle: it’s a winter scene, and it features a large, horse-drawn sleigh in the center with a happy couple cuddling under a blanket. He turns to Norway. “Is that farm still down the road?”

XXX

“Are you sure you know how to drive one of these?” Denmark asks, warily watching his boyfriend take the reins of the sleigh. He’s had plenty of experience with horses, but he’d rather ride them than be dragged behind a horse in an open, rickety old sled. He’s convinced they ended up with the oldest sleigh available, and probably the most ill-tempered horse, given the way it’s snorting at them.

“Oh yeah! I used to drive stage coaches with six of these beauties. Cowboy, remember?”

America gives him a grin and a wink, and suddenly the sleigh and the horse don’t matter. The cold air brings color to America’s face, and his eyes are bright with excitement. In the end, that’s all that matters. Denmark returns his smile. “Well all right then! Time to – what is it you say? Get it up!”

That makes America laugh so hard he nearly falls off the sled. “Get it up is for later, maybe if Norway and Sweden are out of the house. I think you mean _giddyup!_ ” America tugs on the reins and the horse takes off at a trot.

 “Shit. How am I supposed to keep all those idioms straight?” Denmark says.

America shrugs. “To be fair, you told me _fin røv_ meant _hello_ in Norwegian when I was trying to be cool and greet Norway at the meeting. I thought he was going to punch me.”

“He punched me instead. But did you see the look on his face? Worth it!” Denmark says.

“Where did he and Sweden go, anyway? I thought we were doing this sleigh ride together,” America asks.

“They claimed the farm only had these smaller sleds left, so they took one and went ahead. It’s a bullshit excuse; they just wanted to be alone and cuddle. You’ve seen how Sve is about public affection,” Denmark replies.

America shrugs. “They should have just said so. It’s cool if they want some space. And hey, it gives us the chance to, as you say, _get it up_ , eh?”

He wiggles his eyebrows and Denmark scoots closer. “We could take a little detour. We’ve been coming here for years, so I know a couple quiet spots.”

“That so?” says America. “You do look pretty good in that fluffy hat. I think it’s the puffball on the end that’s doing it for me.” He leans in and kisses Denmark.

Denmark returns it until the sleigh goes over a bump. He pushes America away. “Eyes on the road, cowboy. And keep your scarf up! I’m not kissing you if you lose your lips to frostbite.”

America chuckles, but pulls the scarf up over his nose and turns his bright eyes to the path ahead and the scenery around them. It’s a beautiful day, with just enough cloud cover to keep the snow from blinding them. In the distance they can see more of the mountain range that runs across Norway, Sweden, and Finland; Denmark’s seen it often enough in the sauna as a birthmark that runs over Norway’s side and Sweden’s back, and brushes across Finland’s neck. It used to be a jealous reminder that he is apart from them, but now he doesn’t care. He’s paying more attention to the blue of America’s eyes behind his glasses and the wild locks of his hair that have escaped from his hat to dance in the wind. America is loud and lively, beautiful and strong, and he seems happy that Denmark can keep up with his energy. They sing and they drink, they race each other across the world and still find time to sit in awe of the people and the places they hold dear. Denmark has never felt so in love with anyone, and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to screw this up.

America’s eyes light up suddenly, and Denmark’s heart does a little flip when they land on him. “Oh, dude! Do you know Jingle Bells? Because we’re in an _actual_ one horse open sleigh, so singing is basically a rule.”

“Of course I know Jingle Bells! But if singing is required, you’ve got to sing in Danish, too,” Denmark replies.

“Deal!” America exclaims. He starts in on the chorus, encouraging the horse to speed up as the path forks and they turn left, following an arrow into the woods. Denmark’s too focused on America to notice that the main path actually leads to the right.

Once the sleigh is out of sight (although the singing is certainly not out of earshot), Norway and Sweden reappear from the opposite path to turn the arrow and direct other travellers in the correct direction.

XXX

“I have good news and I have bad news,” America says, meeting Denmark back at the sleigh. “I’m guessing you have mostly bad news, since I don’t see the horse.”

Denmark sighs and glances back along the path of destruction behind them. They’d narrowly missed getting crushed by a huge branch, but it had scared the horse and sent them careening through the woods until the tether broke and America was forced to drop the reins. Denmark had gone to look for the animal, but hadn’t been able to track it down within the agreed fifteen minutes.

“Yeah. We probably should have switched tasks, since you know more about horses,” Denmark replies.

“It’s fine; you don’t like heights, so I’d never send you alone to the edge of a cliff.”

“I could get over it, though! I know this place way better than you do, and all I’d need to do is look over the edge of a measly…little…” Denmark swallows, his breath coming short as he pictures the drop that lies just beyond the thinning trees. “Mountain.”

America’s expression turns serious then, and he puts a steadying hand on Denmark’s shoulder. “Dude, it’s okay. Plenty of people are scared of heights. Remember how I told you I’ve turned down every invitation to visit Australia if I could help it? It’s all because I saw this video with a spider and - yeah. I am _really_ glad it’s too cold for them out here.”

Denmark starts to reply, then just smiles and pulls America into a hug. He’ll take care of the little spider living in the corner of their room later. He might leave it as a little gift for Norway and Sweden, since he’s pretty sure he spotted one of Norway’s creepy troll friends just before that branch fell. “So. What’s your good news?”

“I got some awesome pictures for my adventure scrapbook!” America announces. His face falls quickly, though, and he tugs his hat further down over his ears. “The bad news is there’s no service, and I didn’t see anything familiar.”

“Shit,” Denmark replies.

“Yup,” says America. “We can’t be too far from the farm though, right? We’ve only been out for half an hour. There’re tracks from the sled, too, and I’m pretty sure the horse just ran home. Someone will come looking.”

Denmark grits his teeth and kicks at the snow. “Damn it. You’re here for one day and I already made a mess of things.”

“What! What are you talking about?”  

“I was supposed to be showing you around and telling stupid stories while we cuddled under a blanket, not get us stuck in the middle of the woods,” Denmark says.

“That’s not your fault! There’s no way you could’ve known that tree would fall, and I had a lot of fun riding with you. Even when the horse spooked, and even now. It’s an adventure!” America declares.

“I guess,” Denmark says.

America frowns and reaches for Denmark’s face, his thick gloves cool and smooth against his cheek. Contrary to popular belief, he can pick up on the mood, especially when it concerns his boyfriend. “What’s wrong?”

Denmark hesitates for only a second longer. America rarely hides his emotions, and that makes it easy to tell him the truth without feeling completely embarrassed. “It’s just, this is the first holiday we’ve spent together, and it’s the first time you’ve gotten to hang out with my friends for more than a few days. It sounds kind of stupid now, but I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you and Norge and Sverige to get along, and I wanted _us_ to get along.”

“First of all, that’s not stupid at all. I tried so hard to impress you the first time you visited I almost made myself sick. Even Canada said I was overdoing it. Secondly-” He wraps his arms around Denmark’s middle, lifts him up, and spins him around until Denmark can’t help laughing. America puts him down and grins, but keeps his arms locked around him. “Perfect is overrated. I’m having a great time just being here with you, and I _love_ your friends. They remind me of Canada a lot, and they tell awesome stories. I mean, you guys are Vikings! You fought dragons and monsters! That’s so cool.”

“I was pretty badass,” Denmark says, wrapping his arms around America to bring him closer.

“Still are,” America says. “I’ve seen your ax.”

“Both of them,” Denmark smirks. “And you’re pretty badass yourself, keeping us from flipping off the edge of a cliff.”

“Damn straight.”

With a laugh, Denmark kisses him. Then he straightens up, pulls his scarf over his mouth, and summons up some of that Viking courage. “Alright. Show me this amazing view. We come here every year, so if I get my bearings I can get us back to the farm with no problem.”

“You sure?” America asks, squeezing his hand.

“Can’t be as bad as fighting a dragon, right? And I’ve got a cowboy to lasso me if I fall,” Denmark says.

“Well alright then, partner,” America replies, slipping into a southern drawl. “ _Giddyup_!”

XXX

When America and Denmark come into view of the farm, they find Sweden and Norway sitting at a table outside with four steaming mugs of hot chocolate. America waves and races Denmark to them, beating him by a breath. He knocks the snow off his boots before stepping up on the deck and gratefully accepting the mug Sweden pushes into his hands.

“See?” Norway says, handing a mug to Denmark. “I told you they’d be back before it cooled.”

America raises an eyebrow, and Sweden explains, “Got worried when we saw the horse.”

“Riiiight. And you had nothing to do with that,” Denmark says.

“The horse? Nothing at all,” Norway says.

America doubts he will ever be able to see beyond Norway’s poker face, but he swears he catches a smirk right before he takes a drink. America doesn’t call his bluff, though; he only smiles and breathes in the steam, letting it warm up his face. “Well, we had quite the adventure! Denmark took us on a walk off the beaten path on the way back. It was so cool! We found part of a stream where it wasn’t frozen, and we saw a fox and a whole bunch of birds.”

“Call it the scenic route,” Denmark says, reaching for America’s hand. “I’ll show you more tomorrow if we dig out the cross-country skis! We can pack up lunch and make a day of it. I’ll bring more of those toe warmers too, my feet feel like they’re going to fall off!”

Denmark continues on enthusiastically, with no more hesitation or fear. It’s the same lively energy that attracted America to him in the first place, and it’s part of the reason they get along so well. With a grin, he leans across the table and kisses Denmark’s nose. “You’re really cute.”

Denmark’s surprised enough to stop talking, but he immediately pulls America’s chair closer and kisses him on the lips. “So are you.”

Sweden and Norway share a satisfied smile, and Sweden reaches for Norway’s hand under the table.


End file.
